The Volunteer
by rollaway-yourstone
Summary: With her 52 entries, fifteen year old Belle is nervous for this year's reaping. She has a bad feeling about the 63rd Hunger Games, but who is it she needs to be more worried for, herself, or her best friend Weston? Let the Hunger Games begin!
1. Chapter 1

I give full credit to the author of the true Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins

"UP,UP,UP!" I jump out of bed, smacking my head on the bunk above me; you'd think I'd be used to this by now, after six years. The rickety door slams closed as the peacekeeper storms out. I vaguely wonder which man is in charge of us today. My cowboy boots remain in the same spot as last night, propped against the side of the bunk. I slipped them on while running my hands quickly through my long blonde hair and throw it into its usual messy bun. Weston still isn't stirring above me, so I smack my fist up and into his mattress. "Alright, alright, **Belle** I'm up." He growls at me.

Scowling, I grab the least ripped pair of overalls and a too-big yellow t-shirt from the bin. Most of the things I wear are too big. My frame is too small to fit into the standard sizes handed out to each of us.

Our cabin is one of twelve milking groups. Our ages range from seven to eighteen. Once we've passed the reaping age we get moved into our main jobs, which vary from breeding, to butchering, and everything in between. At age six we get pulled from the houses we lived in with our families to be trained in milking for a year. Once we reach the age of seven, we begin the tedious job until we are eighteen. Then, we can move back into our old houses until we get married and assigned a new house. We still get to visit our parents after we finish our jobs each day.

I slam the changing stall door behind me. It's not me Weston should be mad at, it's the peacekeeper who comes in every morning at the crack of dawn! It's not my fault that he has to get up. In fact, he should be thankful that I even bother to make sure that he's up, rather than letting him get publicly whipped every morning. But that's what friends do.

I open the door, fully changed. Walking around to each of the bunks, I do my normal routine of making sure every other kid in the cabin is awake and getting ready. For the most part, the girls are usually up and going. It's the guys I have to push and shove awake each morning. It's also the guys that think it's okay to change wherever they please. I mean come on! There's stalls for a reason!

Making my way back to the door, I grab a t-shirt and throw it to Weston. "Let's go." I say, holding open the door as he walks and wrestles into the shirt at the same time.

"Fix your hair." I say. He reaches up and tousles the blonde waves, making them even worse than before, and shoots that crooked smile of his towards me. I sigh and shake my head, continuing walking down to the milking factory.

"Ah Belle, loosen up. Just treat it like any other day on the farm," But I can see the worried look in his eye as he glances over at me. "How many times again?"

"56, the true blessing of a big family!" I say, giving him a small, painful smile. I've been getting tessare for seven people each year since I was twelve, plus my own required number of entries. "What about you?"

"23," he says without looking at me. I can tell by the way he says it that it's not him he's worried for. "We'll be fine."

We're almost at the gate. I glance up at him and can't help but wonder what it would be like if he did get chosen. He's more than my best friend, not that I would ever tell him. With his blonde hair and blue eyes, he's had his fair share of girlfriends, each one sending a pain through me that I couldn't place until a couple weeks ago. He's been my job partner since we were seven. Since then we've become really close friends, helping each other out whenever the other gets in trouble. We're pretty known throughout District 10 for keeping a lot of the kids out of trouble. My normal rounds of waking the other kids up each morning has earned me a certain respect, and Weston's really good at talking the peacekeepers out of a beating. Beatings and whippings are pretty common around here. If you don't follow the rules, there are consequences.

Weston holds open the gate for me and we walk up to the rough factory doors together. They're wide open, which means that the factory's going to be hot today. As we walk down the rundown hallway, we pass a peacekeeper.

"Finish quickly today. Everyone needs to be done by 11:00. Reapings begin at 1:00." He practically shouts at us. At the end of the hall, we walk through the door to the cow pen and start on our assigned row for the day.

"Do you want cows or goats today?" I say. "You chose." He says. "Well its defiantly a special day because you never let me choose!" I say with a grin. He laughs lightly and grabs the bucket to his left. He knows I'll choose cows, they're my favorite. We make it down half of the line before the rest of the kids show up and in no time we are already started on the goats. Even though it is reaping day, Weston and I can't help but goof around as usual. I shove him down into the hay around a goat numbered 726.

"Hey!" he shouts throwing a handful of the yellowish brown hay at me. I giggle and grab a fistful myself but before I can throw it, he grabs me around the knees and pulls me down, knocking down a pile of buckets in the process. We're laughing so much that we barely hear the tires crunching down the gravely road outside. He quickly stands up, pulling me up with him as we peer out the small window near our pen. It's this reality that brings us back to the day's terrors. We finish up quickly and hurry down the streets to a small cluster of homes in the west side of the district. Weston turns left as I turn right. "Wait for me here!" I shout over my shoulder. "Nope!" He shouts back. I glance back and see that smile I love before he turns and jogs down a side street and disappears from view.


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter Two is up! I never expected to get one view, let alone over ten! This is my first story so I really thank those who read it and welcome them to leave some feedback for me! Hope you enjoy it!**

Ducking under the clothes line, I walk up to my front door and let myself in. My brothers are sitting on the rickety chairs, dressed in button up tops and nice pants. My two sisters are helping each other get ready while mom and dad are sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a bottle of moonshine, already drunk out of their minds.

I shake my head in disgust, and walk to the closet. Pulling out a pale yellow dress with buttons down the front, it sure seems to be the color today, I slip it on.

"Let me do that Ray," I say to my sister as she attempts to fix little Sarah's hair. I grab the comb and smooth it back into a simple pony tail, then do the same to Ray's. Brushing my hair out, I allow the curls to cascade down my shoulders. Tossing a simple headband in, I glance once in the mirror, register that I look okay, and leave the room.

I'm so glad that I don't have to worry about any of my siblings during this reaping. Ray is eleven, Sarah six, while the twins Rufus and Bale are eight, Ryan five, and Mark, three. I still have to make sure they look presentable though.

We sit around the living room, listening to the slam of a bottle on the table, or the slosh of a liquid, until one comes around. My family doesn't have to go down until later, but I have to meet Weston to get in our places. I grab each of their hands, give them a quick kiss on the head, and leave without saying a word to my parents.

Walking with my head down, I practically bump into Weston.

"You okay?" he says. I look up, look into those eyes that are the one thing in the world that comfort me, and say what's been bothering me all day.

"I'm going. I know it." I whisper to him. He reaches up and touches my cheek, wipes the stray tear out of my eye, and whispers back for the second time today, "It'll be fine. We'll be fine." I feel his thumb trace my lips and then he lets his hand fall. He grabs my hand and we start to walk to the square.

I feel them take my blood. I follow Weston to the roped off area for the fifteen year olds. I register the watery smiles from the kids in our cabins. I feel the squeeze on my hand, the light kiss on my forehead, and watch as Weston leaves me to stand with the boys. I see the fear spread through the children everywhere, but all I can think is that it's me. I know I'm going. I'm not worried for my family. Ray is a fighter, a leader, used to carrying the family with my parents so absent and me working all the time for a little extra money for us. They will be fine. It's Weston I can't bear to leave. I need him. He needs me. Without him I don't know what I'll do, but right now, all I can pray is that I'll have to leave him because if he stays with me, it means that we will be against one another. Only one will survive. And that can't happen.


	3. Chapter 3

_Tap, tap._

Looking up from the rock I had fixated on under my feet, my eyes zone in on the colorful man before me. Viste is tapping the microphone, dressed in a suit as blue as the sky with lime green ruffles underneath. I notice that his usual green hair has been turned a deep shade of purple. I'll never understand the capitol's fashion.

Viste is our escort to the games. He's been in this position for around six years now, so he's familiar with our only two living district victors, Harry, and Sadie who he actually escorted to her own games. She was eighteen when picked, twenty-two now, while Harry had the escort before Viste as he is seventy-six. Harry has grown accustomed to draining out his problems with strangely colored pills which he pops into his mouth while walking around the square, while Sadie tends to stay in her house, never talking to anyone. Ever.

"Ladies and Gents of Panem! It's that time of the year again! The 63rd Hunger Games is going to be the best yet!" He says in his flamboyant Capital voice. Snapping his fingers at a peacekeeper in the crowd, the screen behind him proceeds to show us the familiar video we see each year of how the Games came to be. I can't stand to watch it again, so I glance around and lock eyes with Weston. Breathe Belle, he mouths to me, everything is going to be okay. I nod at him, knowing it's not the truth, and look back at the screen which is finishing the movie.

"Ah, I just love being able to see that every year. Really helps put us into the spirit of the games, huh?" Viste tries to get us to agree back, but we stand as silent as ever, braced for the news that we are about to get.

"While, let's begin, shall we? Ladies, as usual, first." He skips his way over to the glass bowl at the far right of the stage and begins to dig his hand around dramatically inside, flipping hundereds of papers around in the process.

"Belle Stallis!"

All eyes turn to me. As much as I could sense that my name was going to be on that slip, it still comes as a shock. I don't know how, but my feet begin to carry me towards the stage. I push my shoulders back, and try to keep as straight of a face as I can because I know that I'm being broadcast everywhere right now. As I put my foot on the first stair of the stage, I take the first breath since hearing my name. Cool air fills my lungs. The smell of strange perfumes reach me as Viste embraces me, says something that I don't hear, and gently shoves me to his left. Breathe Belle, breathe. I look up and see hundreds of faces looking back, each with a pained expression. None likes this.

"Is there any volunteers? Any brave girls up to the challenge? No? Boys, get ready then, it's your turn!" I don't understand how he can still be talking like this! He's sending me to my death! He walks to the bowl, fishes around with his eyes closed, and pulls up a slip of paper. As he says the name, my heart drops.

"Weston Berlick!"

I frantically search the crowd, finding him in a matter of seconds. We lock eyes and never break as he makes his way to the stage. How can this be happening? What type of sick joke is this? This can't be true. I must look as panic stricken as I feel because when Weston gets onto the stage, he immediately grabs my face in his hands.

"It's okay. It's fine. Belle," he looks so deep into me that I can't help but get chocked up. A lone tear streams down my cheek and he catches it with his thumb, wipes it away, and chokes out, "We'll be okay," Before pressing his forehead into mine.

I can feel Weston shaking against me as I grab hold of him, not giving any room for the peacekeepers to brake us apart. They seem to not put up such a fight, maybe because they actually feel bad for us. I can't see how anyone will volunteer for Weston, we haven't had one for over thirty years. I reach up and gently touch Weston's cheeks and whisper, "I need you." "I need you too, Belle." He whispers back.

"Any volunteers?" Viste says from besides us, breaking our moment as he scans the crowd quickly.

"I volunteer."


End file.
